Have A Biscuit
by Pachamama9
Summary: Professor McGonagall and Harry's conversations throughout Harry's years at Hogwarts. One-shot.


**A/N: This is a fic I wrote by request for Volunteer 95. It's just about McGonagall as a sort of parental figure for Harry throughout his years at Hogwarts. I hope you like it!**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge = #117 (Minerva McGonagall)**

 **Conversation Starter Prompt Challenge = #44 (Write about a canon Hogwarts teacher)**

 **Build A Zoo Challenge = Lions (Minerva McGonagall)**

 **Board Game Challenge = #20 (Write a pic over 2K.)**

 **If You Dare Challenge = #110 (There is no need to shout.)**

 **Disclaimer: Obviously, all this HP beauty belongs to our queen, JK Rowling.**

* * *

"Potter, how was your first day?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't think Professor Snape likes me very much..."

Minerva McGonagall refilled his cup of tea. "Professor Snape... You'll get used to him. He's a very smart man. Would you like a biscuit?"

Harry seemed reluctant to take it. "Do I—Can I?"

"I just asked you if you wanted one, Potter. Go ahead, if you want."

Harry shrunk back in his chair. "There's no... Do you want me to make you more after?"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Potter? Just take a biscuit."

"I-I—" Harry reached for it, and then yanked his hand back. "It's fine."

"Potter, do you like biscuits or don't you?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then take it." She shook the tin at him. "Take. It."

Poor Harry seemed so conflicted. "Potter, nothing will happen if you take it. What are you so afraid of?"

Harry lowered his gaze. His feet didn't even reach the floor from his chair. "I—" He stopped. "I can't."

"Why not?"

His next answer was quieter than the rest. "I'm not usually allowed to have... anything good."

"That's absurd," Minerva said sharply. "I've never of such a thing." She sets the tin in his lap. "You can have as many as you want. In fact, just take the entire tin." Harry looked shocked. "Yes, yes. Go ahead. Take it."

"But I—"

"Do you want to lose points for Gryffindor, Potter? Take it."

Harry grabbed one, stuffed it in his mouth, and nearly moaned. "Thank you, Professor!" he cried through a mouthful of biscuit.

Minerva smiled. "Anytime."

* * *

"Potter, congratulations on making the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Your parents would be proud." Minerva watched as the boy blushed.

"Thank you, Professor. I mean, I wouldn't have it if it weren't for you."

Minerva smiled. "I think you would have gotten it either way, Potter. You are a fantastic player."

"Thanks, Professor."

"Now that you're a true player, Potter, I think you're going to need a little more than that talent of yours to get you through the game."

"What?"

"Oh, let me worry about that, Potter." She winked. "Go off to dinner, now. Take a biscuit with you."

* * *

"Potter, what is it?"

The boy was standing in front of her office door, wringing his hands. "Professor," he said. "I have something to tell you."

"Well, come in, Mr. Potter, come in." She opens the door and allows him inside. "Would you like a biscuit?"

He shakes his head. "I just had dinner. Can I sit...?"

"Of course."

Harry bowed his head after he sat. "I... I have something I need to tell you."

"You already said that, Potter. What is it?"

"I..." He bit his lip, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. "It wasn't Hermione's fault," he blurted out. "The troll, I mean. We went looking for her."

"Why—was she not at the feast?"

Harry didn't seem to want to say. "My friend Ron...you know him. He made fun of her. She was crying in the bathroom, and she missed the feast."

Minerva sat back in her chair. "And you went looking for her?"

He nodded. "Are you going to take more points away from Gryffindor?"

"No." She touched the boy's hand. "That was very brave, what you did. You should have told a teacher or a prefect" —Harry ducked his head— "but it was very brave. I hope you understand that."

Harry smiled.

* * *

"Potter... I still can't believe you did that."

The boy was lying in his hospital bed, gingerly touching the wound on his arm. "Did what, Professor?"

"The whole thing! You decided it was a good idea to...to break every school rule and go out after curfew up onto the third floor? Why would you...? Potter, you could have died!"

"I know," said Harry, pushing his glasses up into his nose. Minerva was reminded of his father whenever he did that.

She noticed how little he was compared to her. He was just a child... How could this have happened? With everything he had gone through, how had they allowed this to happen? "Potter, I don't think you understand how important this is. A few more minutes down there and you'd be lying six feet under without a thought in your head!"

"I know, Professor."

In this way, Harry was just like James. He had the same determination in his eyes. "Well... Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would've tried to stop me," he replied simply. "I had to do it."

"Potter, you did not have to do that! You could have... You could have told me—"

"I did."

"What—" Minerva stopped speaking. He was right. He had tried to tell her. And she hadn't listened. "Oh..." She put her head in her hands.

"Don't feel bad, Professor. It was my decision. You couldn't have stopped me." The boy seemed so calm.

"Well... Can I take one of your chocolate frogs, Potter? I'm really in the mood for something sweet."

He nods. There's an array of white medical tape lining the edge of his forehand. "Of course, Professor. Take whatever you want."

"Thank you."

"Sure."

* * *

"Potter, how much brains do you have in that head of yours? Hm?" Minerva could not wrap her mind around it.

"Sorry, Professor," the boy stated to the floor.

"I mean—I just—why would you ever think it was a good idea to fly a car all the way to Hogwarts?"

"The barrier was—"

"I heard you the first time, Potter! I know the barrier was sealed! But you could have waited for Mr. Weasley or Mrs. Weasley or you could have sent a bloody letter to Professor Dumbledore or myself letting us know of your situation!"

The boy flinched. Minerva noticed how skinny he was, but shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. "Sorry, Professor."

"Potter, what happened to the barrier was not your fault, but what you did about it most certainly was! Just imagine the trouble the Ministry had to go through just to cover up the mistakes you made!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Minerva grasped her desk. "Potter, just because something happens does not mean you have to do something about it."

He opened his mouth and then closed it. "Yes, Professor."

"Now, get back to your dormitory, Mr. Potter, before I change my mind about taking points away."

* * *

"Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Could you eat something, please? A biscuit, perhaps?"

The boy shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He adjusted his glasses with his good arm.

"How about some tea? Pumpkin juice?"

"No thank you, Professor."

"Why not?"

"I'm not thirsty."

"Potter, you haven't had anything to eat or drink for hours. How can you not be?" The green-eyed child did not respond. "Potter? What's wrong?"

He shrugged, and then winced. "My arm... The Skele-Gro... It makes me nauseous. I don't want to throw up again."

Minerva's expression softened. "Potter... You're not doing yourself any good by starving. Just a biscuit, alright? For my own sake?"

Harry stared at the pastry in her hand for a long time before finally saying, "Okay."

* * *

"Potter, go on and say what you want to say. I know you're just dying to tell me." Minerva thought that the boy looked like he might just vomit up words if he didn't tell her. "Get it out."

Harry took a deep breath and blurted out, "I think Malfoy's the Heir of Slytherin."

Minerva was bewildered. "What?"

"I think Malfoy's the—"

"I heard you the first time, Potter, but—why on earth would you think that?"

"Well, I mean..." Harry was at a loss for words. "He's... He's _a Slytherin_. And he's _Malfoy_."

"Let me get this straight, Potter," said Minerva. "You think that a boy your age, Mr. Draco Malfoy, who obsesses over Potions class and writes letters to his mother every Tuesday and Thursday... is the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Well, er...yeah."

Minerva sighed. "Potter, this is absurd."

Harry looked scandalized. "But—he—"

"But nothing, Potter. Get out of my office."

* * *

"Potter, do you see now what I meant?"

The boy mumbled something incoherently that Minerva took to be an apology.

"Who do you think it is now?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Hagrid?" he guessed.

Minerva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Have you learned nothing? Go, Potter. Take a biscuit on your way out."

"Yes, Professor."

* * *

"Potter, I know this is hard for you, but you can't worry. Miss Granger will be on her feet in no time."

The boy glared at the ground. "It's all my fault."

"Don't you think like that, Potter. None of this was your fault. You just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can't worry—"

"I'm hearing voices," he interrupted. "Did I tell you that?"

Minerva's brow furrowed. "No," she replied. "No, I'm afraid you forgot that little detail. What do they say?"

"I'm not crazy, Professor, I'm telling you. This is real!"

"I know, Potter, I know. I believe you. After learning that you can speak Parseltongue, it's not a surprise." Minerva wanted to comfort the boy. He seemed so... so dark for a boy this young. He was only twelve. "Can you tell me what they say?"

"They whisper things," he explained. "They come from inside the walls and they say things like how it's going to kill right before someone turns up Petrified." His shoulders hunched over. "I told you it's my fault."

"Just because you can hear the creature does not mean that it is coming from you or that you could have done anything to prevent it," Minerva assured him. "Perhaps this could give us a greater clue onto what is inside the Chamber itself. Perhaps it could be a snakelike—"

But Harry was already gone.

* * *

"Potter, for Merlin's sake, why couldn't you have waited? At least a few minutes for Professor Dumbledore and I to gather our thoughts, perhaps? Why do you have a death wish?" The boy was covered in soot, sweat, and blood. "Potter, what happened to your arm?"

He pulled up his sleeve to show her. "It's nothing now, see? Fawkes fixed it." He pulled it back down and picked up a biscuit from the tin on her desk.

"Fawkes—what—what happened to it?"

He took a bite. "Well, the basilisk... It bit me."

"It _bit_ you?" she echoed. Harry nodded. "It _bit_ you?" He nodded again. "Merlin's beard, Potter, how are you still alive? We have to—" Minerva began to scramble from her desk. "You've got to—"

"Professor, I'm fine, really. Fawkes fixed it, see?" He revealed it to her once more.

She moved forward to inspect it herself, examining his arm carefully. "There's nothing here... It's gone. How...?"

"Fawkes, Professor. That's what I've been telling you. He's a phoenix, remember? Phoenix tears..." He didn't have to explain himself. Minerva knew now.

She slumped back down into her chair. "Potter, you scared the living daylights out of me. Don't _do_ that."

He grinned. "Sorry, Professor."

"You think sorry's going to cut it, Potter? My blood pressure's probably through the roof..."

Harry laughed. "Sorry, Professor."

Minerva smiled at the boy, and in a moment of flustered emotion, swept him up in a hug. "I'm glad you're alive, Potter."

Harry hugged her back. "Me too, Professor. Me too."

* * *

"Potter, I heard what happened on the train. Are you alright?"

"Fine," the boy answered. He seemed... out of it.

"The dementors... That was out of line. Professor Dumbledore was outraged. They are not supposed to attack the students, you know."

"I know."

"Potter, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Professor."

Minerva sat up straight in her chair. "Don't you 'Yes, Professor' me, Potter! Tell me what's wrong!"

Harry stood up. "I'm going to go to the Feast now, Professor. Thanks for the biscuit."

Before Minerva can say anything, he turns and leaves.

She sighs, her hand rubbing her forehead. "Potter..."

* * *

"Potter, there's no need to shout," Minerva ordered, as the boy's words grew louder and louder.

"Sorry, Professor." Harry seemed to be back to his old self. "It's just Hermione... She just drew her hand back and _whack!_ She got him good, right in the nose! She would've gotten another one in if Ron hadn't stopped her..." He tears a chunk of a biscuit out with his teeth. "You should've seen it, Professor. It was amazing."

"I do not encourage violence in Gryffindor House," said Minerva, as Harry pouted a bit. "So five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger's actions."

His mouth fell open. "But—but—"

"And ten points for protecting Professor Hagrid," she interrupted, before he could get too out of hand. "Now go, and don't tell anyone else, you hear me?"

Harry beamed and started tripping over his own feet to get to the door. "Heard, Professor!" He gave a mock salute.

* * *

"Potter, I gave Miss Granger that Time-Turner for a reason," Minerva explained.

The boy frowned. "Can all the professors see into the future?"

"What?"

"Honestly, Professor, how did you know we'd need it? It's bloody brilliant—"

"Don't let me hear that language out of you, Mr. Potter. I get enough of it from Mr. Weasley."

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Professor," he mumbled. "Who knew time could be so bl—so complicated?"

"It is rather difficult," Minerva admitted. "Now get some rest, Mr. Potter, before I force some Sleeping Potion down your throat."

"Yes, Professor," he agreed, taking off his glasses.

Minerva smiled and turned off the lamp beside his hospital bed.

* * *

"Potter, why did I see you in the paper this morning?" Minerva slapped the paper down in front of him. "Again?"

"Sorry, Professor. I was at the Quidditch World Cup, see, and then the Death Eaters showed up and started attacking everyone..." The boy's eyes widened. "They put up this huge symbol in the sky... Morsmar or something like that, and... It was bad, Professor. I... I couldn't believe how they treated those poor Muggles..."

Minerva sighed. "That's how it was before, yes. They see Muggles as..."

"Lower than us, I know."

"I should never see you treat anyone like that, Potter, yes?"

Harry nodded furiously. "Yes, Professor. Of course."

"Good. Now, have a biscuit."

* * *

"Potter, how did you get into this mess?" The boy was staring off into some distant spot behind her. "Potter?"

Harry's head jerked to the side, and he blinked. "Sorry, Professor. I... I just... I don't want to be in this tournament. I don't want to die."

Minerva nodded. "I know. I wish I could take you out myself..."

"You don't think I put my name in the Goblet, do you?"

"No, no, of course not!" She cocked her head at him. "I thought you knew me better than that!"

Harry shrugged. "I thought I knew Ron better than that, too."

"Mr. Weasley thinks you put your name in?"

"Yeah..." He didn't seem to want to talk about it, so Minerva did not press on.

"Well... have a biscuit. We'll see what happens, yes?"

Harry nodded, but she didn't think he was paying attention.

* * *

"Potter, have you gotten any robes for the Ball yet?" Minerva asked the boy.

Harry shook his head. "Was I supposed to?"

She sighed. "Yes, you were supposed to, but I took the liberty of getting some for you." She waved her wand at the closet. It flew open, and out hovered a rather nice set of dress robes.

"Wow," he said. "Thanks, Professor! You know, it was really funny what you did with Ron the other day... making him dance." He laughed. "That was funny!"

"Oh, you thought that was a joke, did you, Mr. Potter?" Minerva stood. "Get up then, Potter. Let's dance."

Harry's face went bright red. "What?"

"You heard me the first time, Potter. Get up." The boy reluctantly shuffled over to her. "Hand on my waist, and other hand here...good." She tried a basic waltz with him, imagining the music in her head. "No—no, like this, Potter. Foot here..." He stumbled over his own feet and hers many times, until Minerva decided to try another tactic on him. "Look, Potter, just pretend that I am that Miss Chang that you've got your eyes on, yes? You want to impress her, don't you?"

Harry went white. "Wha—I—what—I don't—what—" he stammered.

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Potter. I may be old, but I am not blind. Let's try again."

* * *

"Potter, what's got your wand in a knot?"

The boy was angrier than Minerva had ever seen him. "Was it your idea? _Was it_?"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Potter? Sit down, and let's have a rational—"

"I will _not_ sit down!" Harry shoved the chair. "Was it your bloody idea to put Hermione and Ron underwater in that task? Was it?"

"Potter, that was—"

"You could've killed them! They could've died! They—they—they could've gotten brain damage from being underwater for so long!"

"Potter, listen to me—"

Harry was gone before she could even make a single statement.

* * *

"Potter, it wasn't your fault. Mr. Diggory—"

"He's dead," interrupted the boy. His voice was hollow.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," said Minerva quietly. She didn't want to disrupt him. "Cedric Diggory is dead. Do you remember what happened?"

Harry took a shaky breath. He still refused to look her in the eye. "Of course I remember what happened." There were dark circles carved beneath his eyes. Hadn't they given him Dreamless Sleep Potion? Some Calming Draught? "He's dead because of me."

"No," Minerva said gently, getting out of her chair to move towards him. "No, it was not because of you. None of this was your fault."

"It is," Harry said firmly. "It is. You weren't there. You don't know. I know what happened. I told him to—to take the cup at the same time as me, and we got to the graveyard and—" He choked back a sob. "And he killed him."

Before she knew it, Harry was crying, sobbing into his hands, the very force of it throwing him forward with every breath. He was trying to speak at the same time, trying to profess his apology to Cedric Diggory, but he was crying so hard that he could not get a single sentence out. "Potter..." She kneeled before him. She did not have children. She did not know how to comfort him, but she did her best, placing her hand on his back, and he grabbed her arm like a newborn child would an adult finger. He sobbed into it, wetting her sleeves, and she let him. She did not mind.

* * *

Potter had not come to visit her for a long time. When he did, it was not out of his own free will. She knew what had happened. "Potter?" she called out. The boy did not seem to hear her. He was too busy walking to his usual chair in her office with his hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at the ground. "Well?" she demanded, stopping him in his tracks.

He sat down. "Is what true?" he growled, a bit more aggressive than usual. "Professor?" he added.

"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"You called her a liar?"

"Yes."

"You told her that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"

"Yes."

Minerva sat back down again. She needed to have a long talk with the boy. She frowned at him. "Have a biscuit, Potter."

"Have—what?"

"Have a biscuit," she repeated. "And sit down."

* * *

"Potter, how could you let her do this?"

The boy shrugged. He didn't seem to think that this was a problem at all. "It's not a big deal, Professor. Honestly, I'm fine."

"Potter—fine—she—" Minerva sputtered. "Potter, she carved words into your hand!"

"It didn't hurt, Professor."

"Potter, I have known you for longer than you have known yourself. Don't you dare lie to me!"

"Professor, please. I'm fine. You're the one who told me it was all about keeping my head down and my temper under control! Well, this is me" —he stood up— "keeping my head down" —he shoved the chair in— "and my temper" —he flung the door open— "under control." He slammed it shut. Minerva frowned.

* * *

"Potter?" The boy did not respond. Minerva recognized the empty look in his eyes. This time, however, it was much worse. She knew that he'd stopped eating, so she pushed over the tin of biscuits to him. "Have a biscuit." He made no movement to show her that he'd heard her or wanted a biscuit. "Potter?" He didn't even blink. "Harry?"

"Yes, Professor?" he answered. His voice was hoarse, and his vocal inflection matched that of a robot. His eyes were focused on the painting behind her head.

Minerva hated this version of Harry that she saw before her. This inky-haired, green-eyed boy was void of life now. "When was the last time you ate?"

Again, no response. It seemed like Harry didn't mind not eating. Minerva knew that he was used to getting little food when he lived with the Dursleys, but usually he made up for that when he was at Hogwarts. Since Sirius Black had died, Harry had lost weight, stopped looking others in the eye, gotten less sleep, and spent little time with his friends. She hadn't spotted him in the Great Hall for a few days. "Potter, please... just eat something."

"Not hungry."

"Eat."

"Not hungry," he repeated.

"Potter, I swear to Merlin I will force-feed you if I have to!"

He turned his face away from her. "Not hungry."

"Potter, if you keep going at this rate, you'll be in the hospital wing! You eat something right now!"

"I'm. Not. Hungry."

"Harry Potter, I command you to eat!"

Finally, he met her eyes. "I don't want to eat."

Minerva knew that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Harry's gave her the image of a broken and exhausted little boy. "Why not?"

His next look almost shattered her. "Hunger keeps the nightmares away."

* * *

"Potter?"

"Professor?"

Minerva and the boy sat in their subsequent chairs, just staring.

"He's dead," said Harry.

"Yes, Potter."

"Dumbledore's...dead."

"Yes, Potter."

"He's...dead."

"Yes, Potter."

"He's... Dumbledore... He's really... He's really dead."

"Yes, Potter."

Silence.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I... I'm glad it wasn't you."

"Me too, Potter." Her voice was almost a whisper. "Me too."

* * *

"Potter?" called out Minerva McGonagall.

"Yes, Professor?" answered the man.

"It's good to see you."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review, favorite, or follow if you can!**


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